


The Mess That We'll Become (Leaves Something To Talk About)

by stereoslash



Category: Produce 101 (TV), UNIQ (Band), UP10TION, X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, stereoslash officially coming out of the rangzz closet? more likely than you think, this makes use of religious imagery because i'm blasphemous like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22863013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereoslash/pseuds/stereoslash
Summary: Seungyoun was perfect in their eyes. An angel. Pure.
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Kim Wooseok | Wooshin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	The Mess That We'll Become (Leaves Something To Talk About)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the combination of two remixed works which were originally written way back in 2017 when my writing was a little different from the state it is in today. I tried to tweak this a bit to make it read a little better, but if I didn't succeed, let it be known that I tried. I just really wanted to come out of the rangzz closet today. Title taken from Panic! at the Disco's "Casual Affair".

There are bruises around Seungyoun’s throat.

He’s perfectly aware of them, of course he is — not that the stifling heat would enable him to forget. Sunlight filters in through stained glass windows, beating down on him as he sits on one of the pews; sweat beginning to form at his brow as he stews inside his blue turtleneck — and it’s not the most practical getup, taking into account how it's a particularly sweltering afternoon in August (the warmest month of the year in Goyang), but his choice in clothing was bound to draw fewer eyes than what lies underneath the cashmere.

He reaches the end of his prayers, drawn-out apologies wrapped up in guilt and shame he knew he should feel but didn’t, memories doused in secrecy and subterfuge and litanies whispered against sweat-slicked skin. His knees begin to smart, though he hasn't been kneeling for very long; and Seungyoun is all too aware that it is but a phantom ache from nights past — as well mornings and afternoons that he'd stopped keeping track of.

Now his gaze falls onto his own wrists, tracing lines that were once there but have long since faded, the memory so vivid that he could almost conjure up the feeling of cold, unyielding metal. He sees this all, ponders it, relives it — imprints that have come and gone, imprints that should put fear of the Lord in his heart where this is only a complete and utter lack of regret.

He stands, draws the attention of a man sitting a few rows down, and Seungyoun walks with him — smiling even as the other deals nothing but smirks and speech bursting with innuendo.

The man’s not really expecting anything from Seungyoun. None of them ever do — not when he makes it a point to attend mass every Sunday, not when he looks on with eyes so free of guile even as his friends try their damnedest to stain his snow-white soul; not when his brother levels tearaways with his steely gaze and warns them not to taint him.

Seungyoun was perfect in their eyes. An angel. Pure.

No one knows about the bruises.

No one knows the preacher's hands match them perfectly.

* * *

Seungyoun is beautiful.

Wooseok has never had much use for flowery words, but there’s something to be said about the way the sunlight bathes Seungyoun’s skin in gold; soft, curling strands tinted brown by the afternoon light. His head is bowed in prayer, digits clasped in devotion — the sunlight framing his figure all too reminiscent of a halo.

Wooseok has seen his fair share of halos, etched in murals and encircling cherubims; but the thought that they are a manifestation of something celestial, something otherworldly, has never rang true until he met Seungyoun — with his too-bright smiles and the laughter in his eyes and the way his words would steal the breath right from between Wooseok’s lips.

Seungyoun is beautiful.

He is blinding, a beacon of hope and love and laughter and everything Wooseok wants to hold dear encased in skin and blood and bone. He has the world at his fingertips, people hanging to his every word — tripping all over themselves in their haste to hold his gaze just a little bit longer. Seungyoun could have everything he ever wanted, but he chooses to refrain; opting instead to give freely and take sparingly, and Wooseok is drowning — because not even he, a man of the cloth, could find it in himself to be so selfless and forgiving, yet Seungyoun does it effortlessly.

Seungyoun is beautiful, that much is known, but Wooseok thinks he’s most beautiful like this — laid out like a crucifix, skin glowing softly in the dim light; kiss-bitten lips parting as sinewy legs find their place around Wooseok’s waist to drive him deeper inside. Seungyoun’s breaths are shallow in the space between them, the syllables of Wooseok’s name falling from his lips like a prayer — and there’s nothing holy about the way he begs Wooseok to fuck him rough and filthy, but as they reach their peaks Wooseok swears it feels like heaven.

Seungyoun is beautiful, and Wooseok is blessed enough to know that Seungyoun is his and his alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seungseokhq) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woodz_).


End file.
